


All Rodimus' Fault

by fransoun



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: IT LOOKS GOOD, M/M, Magnus finally gets to see what that collar looks like around Rodimus' neck, Magnus likes it, Magnus likes it a lot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, it looks really good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fransoun/pseuds/fransoun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ultra Magnus has been wondering for ages just what a collar would look like around Rodimus' neck. Rodimus finally gives him the chance to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Rodimus' Fault

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enfilade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/gifts).



> Based on a short (and extremely hot) fic by Enfilade (http://warlordenfilade.tumblr.com/post/128068529432/upon-further-investigation) that started me thinking, and then I couldn't stop.

This was all Rodimus’ fault.

Upon a brief reflection, Ultra Magnus realized that almost every situation he’d found himself in over the last two and a half years could be categorized as “all Rodimus’ fault.” Joining the Lost Light? All Rodimus’ fault. Magnus had planned to remain on Cybertron, where the enforcement of law and order in the cataclysmic wake of the end of the war would almost certainly be required.  

But then Rodimus had come to him and talked to him, optics bright, flame-yellow hand resting lightly on one of the arms Magnus had folded sternly across his chest, and gazed earnestly up at him and asked Magnus to join his quest. And as second-in-command, no less! Magnus had been - well, it had been a long time since anyone had wanted _Magnus_ for anything.

And then - and then Rodimus had _smiled_ at him and Magnus, who had been about to draw himself up to his full height, remind Rodimus that the last time they’d met, the speedster had _stolen his ship_ , and march him off to face justice, had remembered just how attractive he’d found Rodimus. Quantitatively, of course - by anyone’s standards, Rodimus was an attractive mech. Sleek and angular, he was a perfect speedster specimen. Magnus’ own objective observations had made particular note of the sweeping, delicate flares of metal on his helm, of the wide expanse of flaring yellow spoiler, of the red biolights that framed his slender waist, guiding the optics down to those slim, graspable hips…

Magnus had stood behind Rodimus the very next day as the newly-minted captain made his impassioned speech to his soon-to-be crew.

And that had only been the start of it.

Next had come the nanocons. Bad enough that he’d had what felt like half the crew - included Whirl! With a weapon! - shrunk down inside of him by one of Brainstorm’s dubious inventions. But then Magnus had had to _smile_. Smile! He’d been the laughingstock of the entire crew for weeks.

And then, worst of all, Hedonia, with its drinking and its F.I.M. chip deactivating and its - its ~~reflexing~~   _relaxing_? All Rodimus’ fault. Everything that had befallen Ultra Magnus since Rodimus had talked him into joining the crew of the _Lost Light_ , and every time he’d talked him round since, could all be technically categorized as “Rodimus’ fault.”

But this time it was _especially_ Rodimus’ fault.

It had all begun innocuously enough. Ultra Magnus and Rodimus had been lying together in berth after some...mutually enjoyable amorous activities. At least, Magnus hoped they had been mutually enjoyable - Rodimus had certainly been loud enough and, er, _enthusiastic_ enough, and Magnus had been far too distracted by what his captain had been doing to pursue the matter further. But Rodimus’ condition afterwards seemed to indicate that he had enjoyed the proceedings just as much as his second-in-command had. He’d snuggled up to Ultra Magnus, pressing his back to Ultra Magnus’ chest, and lain there contently in his sub-commander’s arms, engine happily purring away as Magnus held him close.

“Love you, Mags,” he’d slurred, and Magnus’ spark, as always, had leapt.

Magnus had been just about to slip into recharge when Rodimus had stirred, wriggling around to face him (and conveniently positioning his spoiler just so for pets), and as Magnus had slipped into a comfortable routine, stroking his fingers gently over the edges of that sensitive metal, Rodimus had sighed in contentment and looked up at Magnus with febrile, half-lidded optics.

“Hey, Mags. Is there anything you’ve ever wanted to do together in berth?”

And then Rodimus had _smiled_ at him.

Rodimus had, through millions of years of practice on whatever squadmate or superior officer happened to be nearby, perfected a smile that would let him get away with almost anything. He’d flash that huge, outrageous, slag-sucking grin, so wide it threatened to disappear behind the metal fins that framed his face, so bright it seemed to outshine the Matrix, and the next thing you knew you’d find yourself leaving Cybertron on a quest to find the Circle of Light. (Rodimus had _tried_ to use it on Optimus to escape Cybertron before Megatron’s trial, but it was only _almost_ anything - Optimus appeared to be immune. After that, Rodimus had taken to using it on Megatron just to annoy him.)

But that wasn’t the smile that Rodimus had turned on Magnus. This smile was softer, sweeter, and genuine in a way that stalled the fans in Magnus’ chest. When Rodimus looked at him with that smile, Magnus would let him get away with anything.

Laying in his arms, Rodimus had craned his neck back to look up at him, that long, slender neck with its exposed cabling and its delicate overlapping metal plates, perfectly framed by that sharp, jutting red collar, and gazed up at Magnus with those overbright optics and asked him is there was anything he’d ever wanted to do in berth together and then he’d _smiled_ and Magnus had just blurted it out.

It was all Rodimus’ fault, anyway. Magnus was utterly defenseless against him.

And now here he was with a warm, revved-up, wriggly Rodimus in his lap, a collar wrapped snugly around his neck, and Ultra Magnus had no idea what to do next.

Before they’d begun, Rodimus had insisted they establish a ‘safe word’. When Magnus had expressed his confusion over the term, Rodimus had hastened to explain.

“It’s just a word that means ‘stop’, basically, but something neither of us would say while we’re fragging. If it gets to be too much for you, it tells me that you’re done, that you want to stop, that you don’t want anymore, that - ”

“‘Tyrest’.”

A strange look crossed Rodimus’ face. “Oh. Oh, _Magnus_.”

The speedster flung his arms around the ex-enforcer, pulling Magnus’ helm down to rest on his shoulder and burying Magnus’ face in his neck. Magnus was confused but went willingly enough into the embrace.

After a while, Rodimus spoke again. “Let’s just go with ‘hood ornament’, okay?”

The concept - and the concern - had pleased Magnus. It seemed a safe, responsible way to care for the well-being of one’s partner, and it kindled a certain warmth in him to know that Rodimus understood how much this meant to Magnus, and that the captain was taking it seriously.

And now that captain had a collar around his neck, and Ultra Magnus had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

The collar was made of a flexible mesh and attached to a thin chain that Ultra Magnus had looped gingerly around his own hand. He supposed he was meant to use it to - to command Rodimus, an idea that both disturbed him and intrigued him in equal measure. He’d been staring at it for a long, long time.

Too long, apparently. Rodimus shifted impatiently. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“What do you want me to do? You’re in charge here, remember?”

As if Magnus could have forgotten.

“Kiss me.” That was simple enough. It wasn’t quite what he wanted, but it was a good start.

Rodimus smiled, and Magnus relaxed just a little. There. That hadn’t been so bad. Maybe he could do this after all.

The speedster leaned in, shifting over Magnus’ lap in all sorts of interesting ways, and Magnus dimmed his optics, preparing himself the pleasant, familiar press of Rodimus’ lips on his own.

Then...nothing. Magnus frowned and relit his optics.

Rodimus’ face was a scant handspan from his own, a wicked grin on the speedster’s face.

“Make me,” he whispered.

“What?”

Rodimus trailed his hand lightly over the chain links wrapped around Magnus’ palm and leaned even closer. Magnus could swear he felt his captain’s lips brush across his own.  “Make. Me.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Magnus’ engine rip-roared its approval. His processor might not know quite what to make of all this, but his frame definitely did.

Rodimus sat back in Magnus’ lap, still grinning that wicked grin. Magnus took a deep, steadying breath and tried to calm his pounding fuel pump. Okay. He could do this.

“Kiss me,” he said again.

“Make - _mnph_!”

Magnus gave the chain a single firm tug and pulled Rodimus into the kiss.

 _There_. Their lips met, and Magnus groaned deep in his chest. Rodimus returned the kiss with great enthusiasm, all but melting against Magnus, twining his arms about his second’s neck. For a while, the chain was all but forgotten. Magnus kept some tension in it, but Rodimus seemed to need no further encouragement to keep his mouth pressed to Magnus’. The speedster’s lips were soft and warm, and Magnus had discovered long ago that the same fullness of mouth that gave the captain his legendary pout had certain other benefits as well. He dimmed his optics once more.

The heat built steadily between their frames. Magnus let his free hand drift down to Rodimus’ waist, trailing his fingertips up the speedster’s spinal strut before coming to rest on his spoiler, stroking lightly along its sensitive edges. Rodimus moaned beneath him and tried to arch into the touch, but Magnus tightened his grip on the chain, holding his captain firmly in place while he let his fingers wander. The speedster panted, and Magnus pressed his advantage, slipping his glossa between Rodimus’ parted lips. Rodimus whimpered and yielded shamelessly under the onslaught.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were gasping for breath. Magnus let the chain go slack between them.

“How - how was that?”

Rodimus looked up at him, optics shining. “ _Primus_ , Magnus. That was _great_.”

The speedster laid his cheek against Magnus’ chest as he sucked down cooler air, and Magnus settled his chin atop Rodimus’ helm as he did the same. When Rodimus finally pulled away, that wicked grin was back on the speedster’s face.

“All right,” he purred. “What’s next?”

Here it was. Magnus took a deep breath. He could do this.

“Impale yourself on my spike and ride me until I reach overload.”

Magnus was faintly pleased that his voice only wavered a little.

Rodimus’ response burst forth from him in a rush. “Oh, Primus, Magnus, _yes_. With pleasure.”

“And - ”

Rodimus had already begun to shift in preparation for accomplishing this next tasking. Magnus silently hoped that Ratchet’s experience meant the medic had known what he was doing.

 “ - you are not to overload until I have.”

Rodimus stopped with hips halfway off Magnus’ lap. He stared up at the ex-enforcer, optics wide and mouth agape. He was silent for so long Magnus began to fear he’d made a dreadful mistake.

When it finally came, Rodimus’ voice was rough, laced with static. “ _You are so slaggin’ hot right now._ ”

Rodimus settled himself once again, this time with his panel pressed firmly against Magnus’ and already blazing hot. “All right, then. Open up.”

“...make me.”

“Oh _frag_ yes.”

Magnus felt warm hands slipping slowly down his sides. They lingered for a moment at his waist, caressing its circumference, before delving even lower. Magnus couldn’t suppress a shiver as they found the seams of his thighs, clever digits dipping into them and stroking down, down until - Magnus invented sharply - they found his interface panel.

The fingers began to trace lightly over the edges of Magnus’ panel. They teased at the corners where they met, pinching lightly at the points. At the same time - and Magnus still wondered at Rodimus’ ability to multitask while interfacing - the speedster began to move on Magnus’ lap, and metal rasped against metal as one panel slid over another.

It felt... _good_.

Heat was pooling rapidly behind Magnus’ panel, and the ex-enforcer had to shutter his optics and take a deep breath to prevent his cover from snapping open. Magnus had always prided himself on his efficiency. It had taken him a while to sort out that the most efficient method of accomplishing a task was not always the most satisfying.

So he shuttered his optics and willed himself to wait. Soon, very soon, he would feel the incredible heat of Rodimus’ valve gripping his spike, feel his internal calipers rippling along its length - but before that he would thoroughly savor the sensation of Rodimus writhing up against him, held close by the collar around his neck and by his own desire, and the glorious symphony of sounds spilling from the speedster’s parted lips.

The glide of heated metal against the more intimate areas of the armor was already sending tingles racing through his frame, just as fast as the speedster who’d put them there, and Rodimus’ plaintive whines as he pressed himself urgently to Magnus were beginning to fray the edges of Magnus’ self-control. The ex-enforcer relented just a bit and allowed his free hand to wander to Rodimus’ back.

Not up to Rodimus’ spoiler, although the speedster certainly arched and pulled against the chain, trying to coax Magnus’ hand up to that sensitive stretch of metal. No, Magnus was in control here, and he would not give Rodimus the relief that he sought quite yet. Instead, Magnus slipped his hand down, fingertips trailing over waist and hip until he held the curve of Rodimus’ aft firmly cupped in the palm of his hand.

It fit perfectly, which pleased Magnus irrationally. He’d wondered, in the beginning, if having a smaller partner would prove inconvenient, if the difference in their sizes would make them, er, _incompatible_ in any way. If anything, however, Magnus had found the opposite to be true.  Stretching Rodimus to his fullest extent had always proven to be an immensely satisfying exercise for both of them.

Mmmm. The aft in his hand right now, on the other hand, was just the right size. It was delightful, warm and round and perfect. Magnus gave it a little squeeze, and with a surprised gasp from owner of the aft in question, Rodimus’ panel snapped open.

Magnus felt the slick slide of lubricants on metal as Rodimus continued to stroke his now-exposed interface equipment against Magnus’ own panel, although the speedster had lost his once-even rhythm. Tremors wracked his frame as he moved, barely-suppressed shivers of desire that left him beautifully arched in arousal, head thrown back as he pressed the firm nub of his anterior node to Magnus’ frame, desperately seeking release.

Magnus felt a shiver pass through his own frame. Perhaps it was time to give it to him.

Magnus gave the chain a gentle tug, pulling Rodimus’ head back up to face him. The speedster struggled to focus on his lover, optics already glazed with need.

With a _click_ , Magnus let his panel slide open, too.

At the sound, Rodimus’ optics sharpened, and a grin slowly spread across his face. He raised himself up once more, and this time, when he stroked downwards, the delicate mesh folds of his valve caressed the length of Magnus’ spike.

Magnus decided he had been patient long enough.

As Rodimus rose up yet again, Magnus caught him by the hip with his free hand and guided him into position. As Rodimus lowered himself down, the head of Magnus’ spike disappeared, enveloped in the welcoming warmth of Rodimus’ valve. Under that wet heat, the ex-enforcer’s discipline seemed to evaporate. Suddenly, all he wanted was to bury himself to the hilt inside Rodimus, and he wanted that _now_. But he had to be patient. Rodimus need time to take the girth of his spike, time to stretch himself wide and take all of Magnus in, time to work his way down, calipers clenching, gripping oh so tight along Magnus’ length as it sank into his valve…

Rodimus’ optics flared. “Oh. Oh, _Magnus_.”

 _Ngh_. Magnus had to agree. It felt _amazing_.

Rodimus began to move, bobbing his hips as he began the slow, sweet process of swallowing Magnus up. Magnus had to shutter his optics. Watching Rodimus work himself over like that was almost too much for him to bear, and Magnus didn’t want this to be over just yet.

Rodimus’ hands had forsaken Magnus’ interface panel in favor of the angular protrusion on the Magnus armor’s chest. They were wrapped tightly over the top of it, and he used it to pull himself up before sinking back down again, taking in just a bit more of Magnus’ spike each time.

 _Patience_ , Magnus counseled himself. _Patience_.

He didn’t seem to be the only one having trouble with that. A particularly wanton moan from the speedster in his lap brought Magnus’ optics flickering to life again.

Rodimus’ lower lip was trembling.

His optics were shuttered, just as Magnus’ had been. His head lolled back, exposing the slim collar wrapped snugly around his neck.  His mouth hung open as he panted, his fans unable to keep up with his tremendous output of arousal-generated heat.

And his lower lip was trembling.

Magnus knew what that meant. He gave the chain a quick, firm tug and Rodimus obediently stilled, opening bleary optics to stare up at the ex-enforcer.

“You know the rules, Rodimus. No overloading until I have.”

Rodimus whined plaintively. “Magnus - I don’t think - I don’t think I can - “

Magnus supposed he couldn’t be surprised. Rodimus had always been the faster of the two.

Very well, then. Magnus would offer Rodimus some assistance. He always had, whenever Rodimus had needed it. Rodimus would take his hand and tug Magnus onward, leading the way, and then, if Rodimus faltered, Magnus would be there at his side to pick him up, to support him until he was ready to lead again. They did, Magnus thought fondly, work rather well in that regard.

One hand was all it took for him to wrap halfway around the speedster’s slight waist. With Rodimus held securely in his grip, Magnus began to move the speedster slowly but steadily, using firm, even strokes to drive him hard onto the armor’s spike.

Rodimus had gone limp in his arms, flopped strutless against Magnus’ chest as he allowed himself to be mech-handled. His thighs were splayed open wide over Magnus’, and the speedster rose and fell in time with each demanding roll of the ex-enforcer’s hips. Now that he no longer had to move himself, Rodimus seemed to have devoted all of his processing power to expressing his ecstasy at full volume and with absolute abandon.

“Magnus, oh _Magnus , please _more its good its so good - _Primus_ \- just like that, Magnus, please, just like that, I’ll do anything, more, _more, please_ \- !”

Rodimus’ hips struck Magnus’ - he was fully seated inside the speedster now, the tip of his spike slamming hard into the top of Rodimus’ slick little valve, Rodimus’ calipers rippling along his length.  Rodimus cried out, an incoherent sound of unrepentant bliss, and Magnus couldn’t hold back a sparkfelt groan of his own. He was so close...

He looped the chain around his hand once, twice, and yanked Rodimus forward into a bruising kiss, swallowing the speedster’s screams for more as he drove him down once, twice -

Magnus overloaded.

There were, he had been surprised to discover, many different types of overload. There was the type that snuck up on you at the end of a rare lazy morning frag when neither of you were on duty, slow and sleepy and sweet, that type that raced through you like a shiver and left you sated in each other’s arms.

This was not that kind.

Charge ripped through his frame like grounded lightning, setting every nerve circuit in his frame ablaze with pleasure. Through the white-hot haze that clouded his senses, he felt Rodimus’ valve contract around his spike, calipers clenching and squeezing tight along his length and driving Magnus to even greater heights. His last coherent thought was that Rodimus had managed to obey after all, albeit in a very Rodimus fashion - he’d overloaded right after Magnus had and not a second later.

Ultra Magnus came back to himself slowly, the visual and auditory static of overload gradually fading away. At some point in the throes of pleasure, he’d flung his arms around Rodimus and pulled him close, clutching at him as though he might lose him. Gently, Magnus loosened his hold, trying to give Rodimus room to breathe.

His captain was still caught up in the grips of his own overload. He quivered for a moment longer, fully impaled on Magnus’ spike, and then went slack, slumping against Magnus’ chest. The chain clinked against Magnus’ plating.

Lust now sated, Magnus found himself vaguely horrified to realize the collar was still in place. He fumbled at Rodimus’ neck, trying to remove it, but his thick fingers, rendered clumsy by the hazy afterglow of pleasure, couldn’t manage the delicate mechanism holding the thin band of mesh in place.

“Here.”

Rodimus’ nimble fingers slipped in between Magnus’. He unfastened the clasp, and Magnus tugged it free and tossed it aside.

The ex-enforcer wrapped his arms around Rodimus again, cradling him gently in his arms as the speedster resumed gasping for breath. Magnus’ ventilations were just as unsteady.

“Was that - was that all right?”

“Mmmm.” Rodimus nuzzled closer, a sated smile on his face. “That was better than all right.”

“Th - thank you, Rodimus.”

“Mmm? You don’t need to thank me, Mags. It was - “ The speedster sleepily licked his lips. “ - _definitely_ my pleasure.”

“Still.”

“Mmm.”

Rodimus’ optics were drooping closed. Magnus scooped him up, own legs a bit unsteady, and carried him over to the berth, where he carefully laid the speedster down and drew the berth covers up around him, tucking them in under his chin, before slipping under the covers himself.

Rodimus nestled closer, as close as he could get, and Magnus draped his arm around the speedster and began to stroke his spoiler again, this time with strokes meant only to soothe.

He felt himself drifting into recharge, and by the evenness of his ventilations, thought Rodimus had long since done the same, when the speedster spoke, the words muffled against Magnus’ chest.

“Mags?”

“Yes, Rodimus?”

“Thank you. Y’know, for - for trusting me. I know that’s not easy for you, and it means a lot to me that you - yeah. Anyway. Thanks.”

Magnus lowered his head to place a soft, lingering kiss on Rodimus’ forehead.

“Always,” he whispered.

 


End file.
